


Words of Our Enemies, Silence of Our Friends

by Tamuril2



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Mafia Batfamily, Mob Boss Bruce Wayne, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 20:00:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19034623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamuril2/pseuds/Tamuril2
Summary: A semi "sequel" to WithThe KeyIsKing's story In The Game.There's a new Don in town and he's not taking kindly to Jim's meddling with his hostile takeover/kidnapping of Jason Todd.





	Words of Our Enemies, Silence of Our Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WithTheKeyIsKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithTheKeyIsKing/gifts).
  * Inspired by [In the Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19017142) by [WithTheKeyIsKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithTheKeyIsKing/pseuds/WithTheKeyIsKing). 



> This is dark and has insinuations to rape/non-con. Nothing graphic, but you know it happens. Just want to pre-warn everyone. 
> 
> c’est la vie - it's life/that's life

Paaaaiiiin!

 

Pain, pain, pain.

 

It’s Gordon’s world, his entire being, his everything; it’s the beginning, end and middle.

 

Nothing exists, except the Pain.

 

Maybe there had been a time before the Pain ( _there’s a hazy memory of that, a sense of duplicity and safety_ ), but that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

 

Only the Pain and Laugh mean anything to Gordon now.

 

Pain, because he’s not sure how much more he can take of it.

 

Laughter, because that means Mist’ah J is there again – touching, smelling, cackling, taking what is not his to take.

 

Gordon shakes that thought from his mind. It’s best not to focus on _that_. The humiliation ( _dread, fear, shame_ ) is so overwhelming that even the Pain is better than remembering It.

 

Sometimes Gordon wonder if this is even worth suffering for.

 

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

 

_It’s an old abandoned warehouse by the docks – because of course the nutjob would chose such a cliché setup. Gentle waves lap up against the wooden piers. Somewhere an owl screeches. A hundred putrid smells hug the air around Gordon as he glances over at the dark-haired boy next to him. The kid glares back._

 

_(Gordon decides it best to be unimpressed)._

 

_“You’ll get wrinkles that way,” he tells the kid flippantly._

 

_Gordon can almost hear Conner’s teeth grinding. “You sure about this Intel?”_

 

_As sure as any that he’s ever received from his handler. “Yes.”_

 

_“Where’d you get it from again? I must’ve missed the part where you said.”_

 

_“You didn’t”_

 

_Conner’s blue eyes turn to steel. It’s not hard to see why Timothy gathered this one into his elite group._

 

_Gordon sighs and rub a hand over his face (his five-o-clock shadow has turned into a stubble now). “Look. Master Jason doesn’t have the time for us to play twenty questions. You wanna sit around interrogating me? Fine. But he’s dead then.”_

 

_Conner actually growls at him._

 

_(Gordon decides to still be unimpressed, even if his insides are trying to melt into a puddle of goo remembering just what happened to the last guy who ticked this kid off)_

 

_“You in?” Gordon asks, turning his attention back to the dark, seemingly abandoned warehouse._

 

_Stiff silence, then: “Yeah, I’m in.”_

 

_“Good. Get round the left. I’ll go right. And for Heaven’s sake, try not to botch the plan by smashing in the door early.”_

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

 

It’s not like the kid was Gordon’s.

 

He could’ve left him out to hang.

 

(except of course Gordon couldn’t. Jason’s just a kid when all’s said and done. And that’s all that matters in the end)

 

But no, Gordon decided to blow his cover wide open, be heroic, and get captured by a sadist, all in one fell swoop. That’s got to be a record somewhere. His Boss is probably having kittens over the botched Op. It took years of prep to get him into the inner circles of Wayne’s Empire. People died for this slim chance. And Gordon blew it the first chance he got, because the wildcard Wayne kid got nabbed by some new Don is looking to make a name for himself.

 

But what else were Gordon supposed to do?

 

Leave the kid for Mist’ah J to play with?

 

When Hell freezes over.

 

(maybe today he’ll be lucky and it’ll chill enough for Him to forget to visit)

 

The door to the cell creaks open like some kind of cartoon horror movie.

 

“How’s my favorite toy today?” a smooth voice giggles. “Not too bored, I hope.”

 

(nope, Hell’s still going hot as ever)

 

Gordon can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine.

 

Mist’ah J’s dressed in a bright purple three-piece suit. A garish pink rose is delicately pinned to his left breast pocket. As he steps nearer, Gordon tenses against the ropes that bind him to the metal table. The leer that spreads across Mist’ah J’s face as his gaze roams over Gordon’s body almost makes Gordon whimper.

 

It’s going to be one of _those_ days then.

 

Pain, dread, fear, shame… _No! Stop!_ He tells himself. _Focus, don’t let him win._

 

(except, he already has)

 

He makes himself go lax and distant as Mist’ah J runs a hand through his greasy hair.

 

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

 

_“You’ve been a valuable asset to my family,” Don Wayne tells Gordon. Those steel blue eyes stare at him over the rim of his wine glass – a snake, waiting for the rabbit to see that Death is here._

 

_Gordon swallows the rich wine that’s suddenly turned sour in his mouth. “Thank you, sir.”_

 

_“It was most providential that you showed up when you did.”_

 

_Gordon ignores the alarms screaming ‘you’ve been made, you’ve been made!’ and chuckles. “I was happy to help, sir. Especially after you did so much for me.”_

 

_“Yes.” Don Wayne studies his glass. “We have done much for you, haven’t we.”_

 

_Gordon resists the urge to lick his lips or swallow again. Instead he puts his own glass down gently on the table and leans forward. “Sir, have I done something to displease you?”_

 

_Don Wayne gives a full belly laugh, his eyes flashing dark promises of agony. “You think you would be here if you had?”_

 

_“No, sir, but you’re being rather…cryptic tonight, so I…”_

 

_“You wonder what you’ve done wrong.”_

 

_Gordon can only nod._

 

_Don Wayne turns his gaze to the fire crackling in the hearth beside them. For several long minutes, the younger man says nothing. Gordon does the same. He can’t afford to mess this up, not when he’s so close. At last, Don Wayne looks back at him, his shoulders squaring back with some sort of resolve._

 

_“I think it’s time you helped us with more than just the grunt work. Dick says your talents are being wasted there.”_

 

_This is it! This is the moment Gordon’s been waiting to happen for the last five months. He stifles any eagerness and merely nods. “If you think it best, sir, I would be honored.”_

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

 

Gordon comes back to find himself alone again, but with new pain in places he’ll never mention to anyone. His face is wet with tears and his body stinks of sweat and…other things. Gordon makes himself stay relaxed. It’s the best thing to do in this situation. Tension only makes the pain worse.

 

More tears well up and fall as Gordon realizes this is now to be his life.

 

No one is coming to save him.

 

His handler has already called his Boss by now, so he’ll have been written off as yet another dead officer in a long line of officers meant to take down the Wayne Empire. There’ll be no shouts of ‘freeze, police’ anytime soon.

 

Don Wayne has also been told of his mole by now, Mist’ah J was tickled pink when he discovered he had a cop in his clutches, so there’ll be no rescuing on that end either. Rats deserve to drown in the mess they’ve made.

 

Still, it’d been nice? safe? familial? while it had lasted.

 

(Stars, maybe he _has_ developed a bit of Stockholm Syndrome!)

 

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

 

_There’s yet another crash of something ceramic and no doubt more expensive than Gordon’s entire year’s pay._

 

_“That’s your fault!” comes a posh but distinctly childlike voice._

 

_“Only if Tim doesn’t delete the camera feeds,” is shouted back. “You have my back, right bro? I shared those tech mags with you last week, remember?”_

 

_“Bribery already, Todd? How very like you.” Yep, that’s definitely Damian’s cool voice snarking._

 

_Gordon shares a longsuffering look with the butler, Alfred. “Once more unto the breach?”_

 

_Alfred quirks a smirk at him and waves him through the door first._

 

_Gordon throws the elderly British man a half-glare. “Coward.”_

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

 

Gordon knows it’s his fault. He allowed himself to become too invested, get too involved. It happened before, when they sent their first undercover officer years ago. That’s when they learned how powerful Dick’s smile and charm really were. And here’s Gordon, wallowing in this house of torture, because he let himself get duped the same way (only it was all of them, not just Dick).

 

Well, it’s just desserts and all.

 

His Boss is probably poring himself another cheap Scotch, shaking his head at how he lost another one to Don Wayne and his sons.

 

A spike from Gordon’s crushed ribs causes him to gasp and close his eyes.

 

When he opens them Mist’ah J is leaning over him.

 

Gordon flinches, hard, and then hisses in pain.

 

Mist’ah J grins wide, only enhancing his escaped-from-the-looney-bin aura. “Looks like my toy’s awake again. Did you miss me?”

 

Gordon refuses to answer, just as he has every other time.

 

Mist’ah J narrows his eyes and slams his cane into Gordon’s ribs.

 

Gordon chokes on his screams.

 

Something warm and salty bubbles up and tickles out his mouth and down his cheek.

 

Mist’ah J snarls. “You’d think company would be better behaved when they come to visit.”

 

Gordon wheezes.

 

Mist’ah J shrugs. “Ah well, c’est la vie. You have a guest today.”

 

Gordon blinks.

 

A flourished wave of Mist’ah J’s hand and Gordon can see someone else entering the room. He can’t turn his head enough or see enough around Mist’ah J to make out who it is. He supposes it’s one of Mist’ah J’s new henchmen or business partner. He likes to show Gordon off to them, let them play with him a bit.

 

Gordon shivers again.

 

He’s dug this hole, now he’s got to live with it.

 

The shadow walks closer until the light over the table reveals him…Don Wayne?!

 

Gordon’s brain short-circuits and then restarts in a rush.

 

“W-Wayne?” he rasps, and then screams raggedly when Mist’ah J smashes his cane into his ribs once, twice.

 

Don Wayne watches passively from the side, his eyes blank, his hands clasped neatly on his own walking cane.

 

Gordon cries through the new wave of pain (and shame).

 

Mist’ah J grins at Don Wayne. “Good help is so hard to find these days, isn’t it?”

 

“Indeed,” Don Wayne agrees.

 

“And yet you come here.”

 

Don Wayne sends the oily man a smile as hard as granite. “As you say, good help is hard to find.”

 

“He hasn’t been all that good while visiting me,” Mist’ah J pouts, poking hard at Gordon’s broken leg. “Been downright negligent in his duties as guest.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Napier. I shall be sure to discipline him in such matters.”

 

Mist’ah J’s face becomes decidedly blank itself. Gordon knows he hates when anyone reminds him of his real name. The new Don’s done a lot to erase and remake himself into the terror he is today. Don Wayne’s subtle jab will not go punished.

 

Point in case, the boney hand that wraps itself around Gordon’s throat and squeezes until he’s gasping for air, regardless that it makes his ribs burn. Those emerald eyes sparkle gleefully as he digs his nails into Gordon’s skin. “Or I could always do it myself.”

 

Don Wayne tilts his head. “Of course.”

 

The younger man turns on his heel and leaves the room without another word.

 

“My, my, my, he gave up quickly, didn’t he?” Mist’ah J leans close and giggles. His hand squeezes Gordon’s throat tighter. “More for me.”

 

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

 

There’s an inestimable time loop in which Gordon doesn’t remember much of what happens next.

 

(he thinks he’s grateful for that)

 

He’s still lying on the metal table – like he always has been since he’s been captured – trying to re-learn how to breath around his crushed ribs and broken collarbone. ( _it’s not working very well_ )

 

There’s a tiny shuffling sound above him and then a dark shadow drops to the floor beside him.

 

Gordon jerks and tries to see what new game Mist’ah J has inflicted on him now.

 

A tall, lithe body dressed in all black languidly rises and stretches.

 

“Why, fancy meeting you here, Jimmy boy,” Dick smiles and Gordon feels that last bits of his hope dwindle out. He knows what role Dick plays in these types of scenarios. He’s cleaned up more than his fair share of Dick’s work, after all.

 

“M-Make it qu-quick?” Gordon pleads.

 

Dick props his elbows on the edge of the table and leans his chin on his clasped hands. “Giving me orders, Jimmy boy?”

 

Gordon shakes his head, tears of pain (of hurt, pain, and shame) rolling down his sweaty cheeks and into his ears. “N-n-no.”

 

“Good, because you remember how I hate when people order me around. I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

 

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

 

_Gordon squints down at the mutilated body. “Was all that really necessary?”_

 

_Dick wipes his knives with the dead man’s handkerchief, his movements unhurried. He smiles beatifically. “Probably not, but I wanted some fun, and he was just asking for someone to stab him.”_

 

_Gordon hums, ignoring the gaze boring into the back of his head._

 

_The idiot did have the gall to grab Dick’s butt and fondle it._

 

_To be frank, Gordon’s surprised Jason and Dick waited until they got outside the club to torture the man._

 

_He sighs. “I suppose I’ll sunset him then.”_

 

_“If it’s not too much trouble, old man,” Jason says, stalking by him._

 

_Gordon raises an eyebrow. “I think I can handle it, sir.”_

 

_Dick laughs, throwing his head back. “I like you, Jimmy boy. Never lose that snark.”_

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

 

“You ready?” Dick asks, pulling out one of his thinner knives.

 

Gordon nods.

 

There’s a quick swipe and the ropes attached to Gordon’s wrists are finally (finally!) cut loose. Gordon can only blink in surprise as Dick makes just as quick work of the ropes at his ankles. This makes no sense. Don Wayne left him to Mist’ah J. Dick is only here to tie up a loose thread...isn’t he?

 

Or has Don Wayne decided he wants a more public execution for his undercover cop?

 

Dick pulls him gently up, pausing a little when Gordon has trouble breathing through the pain. He doesn’t mention the new and old blood around Gordon’s rear. A fact Gordon is thankful for.

 

He flinches though when gunshots and shouts start up on the other side of the door.

 

“Ah, Jason and Damian,” Dick says. “Can you walk?”

 

If it gets him out of here – even if it’s to an execution – Gordon will crawl.

 

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

 

“I’m sorry it took so long to get you out,” Don Wayne says, sitting beside Gordon’s bed. The king-sized behemoth of a mattress is softer than anything Gordon’s ever felt. It does nothing to alleviate Gordon’s trepidation over his – as of yet – unknown fate. Yes, the Don had ordered his personal doctor to look over Gordon and patch him up. Yes, Alfred has been feeding him warm broth. Yes, the boys have peeked in every now and then, but…but…Gordon’s not sure of anything anymore.

 

“It’s all right, sir,” he says to break the silence.

 

Don Wayne looks at him for a long moment. “Yes, you would say that. Still, I apologize for the laxity of my men. This shouldn’t have happened.”

 

Gordon digests that. He shifts a little so he’s better on cushioned by the thousands of fluffy pillows. The IV in his arm tugs a bit. “Sir…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“What…what happened to…”

 

“I’m afraid Mr. Napier overstayed his welcome. I'm told Jason and Dick took him to see quite the lovely sunset.”

 

Gordon winces.

 

Don Wayne’s eyebrows lower into a frown. “You disapprove?”

 

“No.” Gordon shakes his head slowly. “No, I…no…but…why?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why what?” Don Wayne leans in closer and Gordon fights not to cringe.

 

“You must know, by now,” Gordon whispers, fiddling with the sheet covering him.

 

Don Wayne studies him. “I do.”

 

Gordon shrinks back against his pillows. “Oh.”

 

“Yes.” Don Wayne sits back and crosses one leg over the other. “It caused quite the scandal.”

 

Gordon can only imagine. “Then why am I…”

 

“Because,” and here Don Wayne’s eyes flint over, “I do not waste a good asset.”

 

“But I’ve never been your asset,” Gordon argues, not really sure why he is, but it’s important.

 

Don Wayne hums. “Maybe not at first. I think you might consider it now.”

 

So that’s the angle is it. Let him get a taste of pain and then swoop in to rescue him, coddle him, and make him ever so grateful someone out there cared enough to help him. It’s brilliant. It’s fiendish.

 

It’ll probably work if Gordon isn’t careful.

 

He takes a deep breath, winces as his ribs grate against each other, and looks Don Wayne in the eye. “I can’t.”

 

Don Wayne chuckles. “I know.”

 

Gordon frowns, pretty sure Don Wayne is playing with him. “I mean that, sir. I can’t switch sides. I’m an officer of the law. I can’t just…I can’t.”

 

And then for some inexplicable reason, he cries.

 

Don Wayne says nothing, only watches.

 

When at last Gordon can’t cry anymore, Don Wayne pats his shoulder. A soft, yet always dangerous smile smooths his face. “I know.”

 

It leaves Gordon none the wiser on just ( _what in the world!_ ) is happening here. Is he a very catered prisoner? Are they trying to brainwash him? Are they just going to give him back to his department?

 

(he’s pretty sure it’s a ‘no’ on that last one)

 

Nothing makes any sense anymore.

 

He’s just gone through the worst two weeks of his life. He’s still in incredible pain whenever the drugs start to lose their effect. He’s having trouble thinking straight (drugs again). And now he’s being pampered with the best money can buy. All in an effort to make him change sides.

 

“I can’t,” he finally whispers again.

 

“I know,” Don Wayne replies.

 


End file.
